Tabula Rasa
by DeanWinchesterIsMyPizzaman
Summary: "Tabula rasa: The mind before it receives the impressions gained from experience." Ever since Sam was little, life in the Complex was the only thing he'd ever known. And he liked it – it was simple, and stable, and routine, and safe. Until about a month ago, at least. That was when the dreams started.
1. Prologue

Ever since Sam was little, life in the Complex was the only thing he'd ever known. And he liked it – it was simple, and stable, and routine, and _safe_. They were free from the worries of life that everyone on the outside had to deal with, and based on the TV and books that they were allowed in their leisure time, people on the outside had a lot of worries. The only thing that Sam had to worry about were the tests.

When he was younger, he hadn't understood. He had asked over and over again why he was there, why he couldn't just live a normal life like everybody else. The wardens had simply returned his question with their honey-dipped smiles, even laughing a little, like he should've known the answer to such a silly question. "Why, you're special, Sammy," they'd tell him. And that was that. Over time he'd come to accept it.

He must've been around fourteen or fifteen when he first figured out what they meant by 'special'. That was when the abilities started. Visions, at first, and always accompanied with blinding headaches that disappeared the minute they were over. They always showed someone dying, and the minute he had them they rushed him to the counselor, who reassured him the person would be fine, but what happened next, Sammy dear?

It wasn't exactly like it was a hard life, not at all. And the Complex, the schedule, the cafeteria, the sweet-as-sugar wardens that had taken care of him since he was a baby - that was all he had. He had no real family, and he'd never really had a desire to have one. The Complex, and everything it entailed, was enough for him.

Until about a month ago, at least. That was when the dreams started. They were strange, unusually vivid, and unlike the visions in that he never knew when they were coming. They always featured the same man – Dean. Dean, who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Dean, with that deep rumbling baritone and the shiny old Impala with the mysterious arsenal in the trunk. All of these things that felt so familiar, yet Sam could've sworn that he'd never seen the man before in his life.

Those dreams were his first secret. Before that, he'd told them everything. That was he supposed to do. There had been no reason not to, but Sam had a bad feeling that the instant they knew about these dreams, they would find some way to take them away, and he didn't want that. Dean – this strangely familiar man who existed in the fringes of his brain – was his only real connection to the outside world. And it felt good.


	2. Chapter One

_Beep. Beeep. Beeeep._

The alarm pierced the darkness behind his eyes, seeming to grow louder and more shrill with each intonation. Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes, the act of lifting his arm like dragging it through water in his exhaustion. _Couldn't I have just one more hour?_ With effort, Sam lifted his eyelids, the white walls of his room becoming clearer as he forced himself into a sitting position. Somewhere behind him, he heard Andy throwing the covers off his bed.

Sam swung to the side of the bed, using his hands to push himself up. Now fully exposed to the air but for the cotton pajama t-shirt, he realized how cool it was and repressed a shiver. His mind was starting to clear now, and he shook his head as if to get rid of the last bit of drowsiness. No dreams last night, at least not any that he could remember. He knew he probably shouldn't miss them – they were just figments of his imagination, after all – but still he did.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped a little. He turned around to face – or rather, look down at, considering how tall Sam was – Andy. The other man let out a brief chuckle and lifted his hands.

"Hey man, calm down. It's just me," Andy chuckled. "Or were you expecting someone else?" He leaned forward until Sam could smell the morning breath leaving his mouth with each word. "I saw the way you and Ava were looking at each other at lunch yesterday. Lovebirds much?" He darted back, playful smile spreading across his face. "Ka-kaw! Ka-kaw!"

"Oh, shut up." Sam threw a punch, the action contradicted by the upturn of his lips. Andy danced away with a burst of laughter, but after a moment his smile fell. They stood in silence for a moment before Andy spoke.

"In all seriousness," he started, gaze flitting between Sam and the floor several times before landing on Sam's face and staying there. "Is anything up with you, man? It's just you've seemed a little.. antsy lately. I don't know. It's probably just my imagination, but-"

"Nothing's 'up'," Sam cut in, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "Seriously, Andy, there's nothing to worry about. Now, are we going to the showers, or do you want to miss breakfast again?"

The cafeteria was a cacophony of sounds and smells, as it was most mornings. Despite the harsh, nearly medicinal while that dominated the room, it buzzed with life. Somewhere across the room, at one of the already-filled tables, loud laughter rang out.

As they approached the line – by this point very short, as nearly everyone was already seated – a distinct smell hit them, making Sam's mouth water.

"Ah, yes, bacon again!" Andy shouted. "My favorite!"

Sam turned back to Andy, handing him a tray. "Dude, has there been a day when they haven't been serving 'your favorite'?" His raised eyebrows accented the last two words.

"You do have a point." The line moved forward, Sam smiling at the familiar warden that also happened to be today's lunchlady-in-chief.

"Hey, Meg."

"Good morning, Sammy-boy. What'll it be today, the usual?" Her hands were already moving before Sam could answer, depositing heavenly smelling foodstuff onto the plate that nearly made him drool.

"You know me so well, Meg."

She laughed, the sound cheerful and somehow old-timey. "You don't know the half of it." She must've caught his confused look because she waved him on, urging in her familiar drawl, "Shoo now, Sammy. I've got other customers too."

"Like me," Andy piped up, giving Sam a friendly shove forwards. "Go on and find a seat. I'll be there in a sec."

Sam nodded, tray in hand, and began walking towards the tables. There was barely an empty seat among the crowd. His eyes scanned the rows of people, all in identical white and still trying to shake the sleep out of their eyes, before a slender arm stuck out, waving frantically at him. Sam almost laughed when he saw Ava, her mouth stuffed full and her arm pointing determinedly into the air.

He eased his way through the mass of people and plopped down at the table across from the brunette, who had returned to a normal sitting position. A wide smile was plastered across her face.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked.

"Well," she leaned forwards on the table, seeming to strain to keep her voice steady under the amount of excitement she was feeling. "I'm gonna get promoted!"

"You what? That's great!" Sam responded.

"Shhhh!" Ava pressed her finger to his lips, looking around to make sure no one had heard. No one really seemed to be paying any attention, and the wardens remained stationed at their spots by the doors. "Don't talk so loud. Nobody's supposed to know yet-"

"Know what?" Andy interjected, dropping his tray on the table with a soft thud.

"About Ava's promotion."

"Oh, really?" Andy turned his attention towards Ava. "Tell me everything!"

"Seriously, not so loud," Ava hissed. "Like I said, I'm not supposed to tell anyone. All I know is it's gonna be big – they said I'm their first choice for this position – I don't know what it is yet – they said they'd tell me when they need me - but I just couldn't keep myself from telling you guys!" Near the end of this jumbled mess of a sentence, the excitement – and volume – returned to her voice.

"Of course," Andy responded between mouthfuls of bacon. "you can't keep anything form your 'ol pals. But, moving on to less top secret subjects – what are you guys doing after breakfast today? I was thinking of heading of heading up to the library. I heard they got some new books shipped in and I wanted to check it out."

"I'm in," Ava nodded. "I've got some leisure time today. But since when have you been interested in books? I thought that was more Sam's thing."

Andy shrugged. "Can't a guy try something new once in a while? I mean, I'm not-"

The bell sounded again, ringing five times in succession over the loudspeaker. In near unison, everyone around them started to get up, filling the cafeteria with the sounds of rustling cotton and loud 'see-you-later's. Andy frowned down at his half-finished breakfast.

"You see, this is what happens if you make us get here late," Sam jabbed, grabbing his tray and standing up. Ava and Andy joined him a moment later, and the three headed for the trashcan.

"So, Sam, are you coming?" Ava asked.

"I would if I could, but I've got an appointment at the Study today." He dumped the remainder of his meal into the bin, then stacked the tray on top, a movement that had become mechanical after doing it three meals a day for twenty-three years.

"Aw, Sammy," Andy pouted. "You'll be missing out on some great literature."

"I'll see you guys later," Sam said, and headed towards the doors.

The Study was the room where those weekly counselor meetings were held – to discuss, and often practice, the special gifts that the people living in the Complex had. The Study also was, and always had been, as far as Sam could remember, the same. Same square room with three while walls, same pane of bulletproof glass making up the third wall – for those with more... explosive abilities. The furniture changed occasionally, but for the most part, the room had been the same for his whole life.

On this particular day, the only things breaking up the monotony of white were the grand wooden desk in the center of the room and the chairs on either side. The warden – Sam's counselor – was standing by the glass, his back to Sam, looking as if there was something fascinating to see on the other side. When Sam entered the room, the sliding doors clicking shut behind him, the man turned.

"Hello, Sam," he grinned, gesturing to the chair closer to Sam. "Have a seat." Now that Sam thought about it, the man himself seemed the same as the very first time Sam had seen him – his hair seemed to have just the same color, mousy brown with just a hint of gray at the roots, and the suggestion of wrinkles forming around his eyes that disappeared in the right light.

Sam sat, smiling back instinctually for a moment as he scooted the chair closer to the desk. When he looked back up, the warden was next to him, casually leaning back on the desk. He sure was fast for a man his age.

"So, Sam," the counselor began, pulling a syringe of clear liquid out of some inner pocket of his coat, "anything new to report? Visions, anything?"

"No," he replied, then gritted his teeth as the needle nicked his skin, injecting the liquid. Actually, there was a lot to report, what with the dreams – but he had a bad feeling about doing anything about those but keeping them to himself.

"Well, then," the warden clapped his hands together after tucking the used syringe back into some recess of his coat. "You know what comes next." He reached behind him on the desk and pulled a spoon out of a coffee mug, which Sam hadn't even noticed before. He tapped the end of the spoon onto the ceramic, shaking the last drops off, and handed it to Sam.

"I want you to bend this," he said matter-of-factly.

Sam almost complained – they'd been trying to get him to do this for weeks – then thought better of it. Apparently some of the others, often the ones who had visions, had recently been able to do more, and now they thought he could too. Might as well give it a shot, though.

He looked down at the spoon in his hand and focused, as he'd done before. The warden watched his movements keenly. In his mind, he saw the spoon bend clean down the middle. In his mind, it happened instantaneously, once at first then over and over again. In real life, nothing happened.

Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. Neither of them said anything as Sam again set his focus on the spoon. This time, he visualized energy – a bright green glow traveling through is arm and hand and into the spoon, bending it. He nearly jumped out of his chair when the spoon actually moved, bent backwards as if it were made of putty.

Immediately, the counselor jumped up as if springing back to life. The smile was back on his face. Even his voice was peppier than usual when he shouted, "I knew you could do it!"

Sam didn't respond, instead staring down at the spoon in his hand, now bent completely out of shape. He gave it an experimental tug, trying to bend it back to a normal shape. Nothing happened, no matter how he tried – it was as hard as a rock. He tried a few more times, putting his hands in different positions, using even more force, but none of it worked.

He had a very uneasy feeling about this. It was different just using the abilities as they came – he just _had_ visions, he had never _tried_ to have them – but they were intentionally trying to do something that didn't quite come naturally. There seemed to be something wrong with that, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. And he knew what would happen next – sooner or later, they'd be moving on to bigger things. Not just spoons. As exciting as the idea may have been to someone else, something unsettled him about that kind of power.


End file.
